


Promise

by cradlesong



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Lives, Alpha Derek Hale, Anxious Stiles Stilinski, Canon Compliant, Comforting Derek Hale, Derek Hale is a Good Alpha, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, POV First Person, POV Stiles, Post-Nogitsune, Protective Derek Hale, Self-Hatred, Understanding Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7782733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cradlesong/pseuds/cradlesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nogitsune has left Stiles broken.  Derek tries his absolute best to fix him.    </p><p>Sometime after season 3B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Just a minor ficlet to sate my overwhelming Sterek addiction. Drop a kudos if you've enjoyed it. As always, comments and constructive criticism are both very much appreciated. Until next time. :^)

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and in these few, fleeting moments, I believe him. My head rests atop his broad chest; his heartbeat is a steady cadence beneath me. He shelters me within his arms, a bastion from the evils that lurk in my mind. This is what my life has consisted of, as of late. He holds me, I cry. Then eventually, I fall asleep. He’ll stay for a while, caressing my hair, sometimes he’ll kiss the top of my head, or nuzzle his face into the crook of my neck. Then he takes his leave, jumping from my bedroom window, I assume. I awaken only to feel his absence in the mornings that follow his visits. We don’t talk about it; it just is what it is.

Tonight, he murmurs sweet nothings into my ear; his soft breaths elicit chills that permeate my entire body. His calloused hand gently strokes my arm, up to my shoulder and then down to my palm. “Derek?” my voice is but a whisper. His chest rumbles as he hums quietly his unspoken affirmation. I shift my position in his arms so I can see his face; his eyes are trained on me with a drowsy gaze. “Why don’t you ever stay?” I ask, my voice trembles slightly. His hand stops, mid stroke, upon my elbow. A delicate sigh emanates from his parted lips.

“Stiles, please,” he begs, “don’t start with this again.” He looks to be in pain as he adjusts himself until he’s sitting up with his back against the headboard of my bed. My head falls onto his thigh with a dull thud. A lone tear slips from my watery eyes, trailing down my cheek, and then bleeding into the thin fabric of his sweatpants.

“I just—I don’t understand,” I stutter. “It isn’t as if we’re the best of friends, sure, but—” he interjects before I can start on some absurd ramble. His voice sounds hollow, tired.

“’But’ what, Stiles?” he questions. “I’m doing the best I can here.”

“I—I don’t know, Derek!” I cry. I’m sobbing now, my body shudders harshly, causing the springs in my mattress to squeal in protest. “Nothing feels real anymore!” The words spew out of me in a rasping wheeze. A bout of hiccups lodges my next words in my throat; they spill out in choppy croaks. “I don’t know what that fucking Nogitsune did, but, Derek, nothing feels real!” He looks at me; disbelief is plastered upon his handsome features. I feel the panic as it seeps into my mind, my breath hitches, and a sharp ache manifests itself at the base of my neck. I can feel my pulse accelerating. It’s then that Derek hoists me up, meeting my eyes with his own.

“Stiles—Stiles, you need to focus,” he commands. His eyes burn bright crimson. “Just focus on me, okay? I’m here now.” I can hear the alarm that has perforated his consciousness. He pulls my head against his chest. “Okay, just listen to my heartbeat,” he says. It’s faster than expected, yet still, slower than my own. He begins rubbing small circles between my shoulder blades. I can tell that his claws have sprung free from his own elevated emotions; they scrape lightly against the fabric of my shirt.

I shake my head rapidly at his request, attempting my absolute best to discourage the panic. After a long while of this, the panic relinquishes its hold upon my mind. Derek continues to hold me to his chest—his own heart rate has steadied itself—as my forlorn sobs devolve into tired, shallow pants. I’ve become a heap of sweat and misery. I peel myself off of him after some time has passed, and my breathing has, once again, returned to normal. I can’t, however, bring myself to look him in the eyes. The familiar shroud of disgrace wraps around me. I can’t help but look down to my rumpled sheets, defeated. “Stiles,” he states, “Stiles, look at me.” I refuse to meet his gaze; I decide to instead stare at a small piece of chipped paint on my wall. “Please.” The desperation that saturates his voice catches me off guard. It’s then that I feel his strong fingers take a hold of my chin. He guides my face so that I can see him. He links our eyes. The moonlight that streams through my window illuminates his sullen features.

“I—“ I begin, but I can’t seem to formulate any words. He waits patiently as I try to concoct a response to his silent question. “It’s just, you leave, and I—I can’t—I just,” my tongue fails me in this moment. “Everyone—we’ve all become so distant, and I—I, I can’t help but feel like they hate me—I mean, I hate me. The Nogitsune made me hate me.” Luckily, a complete sentence has slinked its way past my lips. I search his deep, green eyes, looking for any indication that what I’ve said has fazed him, but I can’t find any. I continue my spiel before my thoughts have a chance to vacate my mind. “You’re the first person, other than Scott and my dad, to be around me, let alone talk to me. And I—I just, I need someone to stay with me. God knows that it can’t be my dad, he’s busy with work, and poor Scott, with Allison in the hospital his life can’t be easy right now, either.” Sharing these intimate thoughts with someone leaves me sitting awkwardly. I fidget as I await Derek’s reply.

His response isn’t accompanied by many words. This, I should’ve figured. He instead gathers my slender body into his arms, arranging us so that my head lies upon his abdomen. He pulls a protective arm around my waist before saying, “Get some sleep, Stiles. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He then brings his other hand to my scalp, gently massaging it with his fingertips. This gesture slowly lulls me to sleep; a meek query escapes me before slumber has gained its full reign.

“Promise?” I ask groggily.

“Promise,” he says.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note - I kind of want to turn this into a whole story. Comment if that's something you'd enjoy seeing.


End file.
